


Porthos finds a sword

by Theonenamedafterahat



Series: Baby Porthos [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Basically Porthos meets a Musketeer and is impressed, Look out for a Princess Bride reference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2018-01-11 10:46:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theonenamedafterahat/pseuds/Theonenamedafterahat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Porthos got down close to the ground, and crouched against a wall with damp moss growing through the cracks. The man with the musket was standing further down the empty alley, but seemed transfixed with something Porthos couldn’t see; something behind him. </p><p>He felt, rather than heard, the musketeer that came next.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Porthos finds a sword

People had been walking past Porthos for a while. Every so often someone would glance down, then look away; embarrassed to acknowledge someone like him half-slumped against the wall. He wasn’t embarrassed though. Not anymore. He had seen something. 

There had been three of them, all boys from the same area. It was well known among children like them that one of the merchant traders was new to the city, which meant that (they hoped, they prayed) there might be unguarded food, or something that could be swapped for food. They had been disappointed, which made them angry, and led to a silence between the three as they made their way back. They weren’t going home, at least not Porthos’ home, just somewhere where he knew how to do things, how to get along as safely as possible. 

The first thing he was aware of was a wet thud, then Claude fell down next to him. He didn’t bleed much, but then Porthos didn’t look much. He would probably feel guilty about that later; not then. Someone had fired a musket, and judging by their victim, they did not possess much skill in aiming their weapon. That meant he had to move, right away. 

Porthos got down close to the ground, and crouched against a wall with damp moss growing through the cracks. The man with the musket was standing further down the empty alley, but seemed transfixed with something Porthos couldn’t see; something behind him. 

He felt, rather than heard, the musketeer that came next. 

"We have to stop meeting like this," said the Musketeer. "It really does nothing for my reputation." He drew his sword, and threw away from him, towards his opponent. "Now, what do you say I put down my sword, you put down your musket, and we try to kill each other like gentlemen?" 

"Why would I do that, Musketeer?" The killer said it like it was a curse word. "Looks like I can kill you before you get close enough to use that pretty bit o’ metal." He stepped forward deliberately, snapping the sword beneath his boot. He raised the Musket, but the Musketeer seemed unconcerned. If the ball hit his head, it would explode like an apple under a cart wheel; if it hit his chest, he would make that horrible death sound like mother, just like her-

"Not before I run you through," came a low voice from behind the killer. A voice that belonged to a man that held a clearly visible dagger. The musket clattered to the ground, making the broken sword rattle. 

"There you are!" The first musketeer said brightly to his companion, after the other had hit the killer over the head so he fell onto the weapons by then fairly strewn on the ground. The two continued to bicker as they lifted the killer between them, and walked away as if nothing had happened. 

He wasn’t even frightened, that first man. How could he know that his companion would be there at the right time? How could he know that his friend would save him like that? How could he be so sure? That kind of certainty…

Porthos had the sword now. He’d picked it up quickly, and hidden it under his shirt. The edges of it had cut him already, but that didn’t matter, because it was HIS. 

And he needed practice.

**Author's Note:**

> kudos to people that get the princess bride reference that found its way in there. Also,I didn’t quite get to the scar yet, okay? I’ll get there in the next part, maybe. Which will, incidentally, be called ‘Porthos finds a hat’


End file.
